


Obvious

by Malu_3 (Grainne)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Kink, Ears, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/pseuds/Malu_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur noticed Merlin's ears from the beginning; how could he not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written May 2013 for the kmm prompt: Arthur likes to fuck Merlin's ears. So, fair warning there. Thank you OP for giving me license to combine my interests in anatomy and DIY kink. Canon-era AU set in the beginning of series 5.

~ (} 0 {) ~

Arthur noticed them from the beginning; how could he not? Merlin's ears announced him wherever he went. They were better than any horn or standard-bearer, and quickly became a source of cheap amusement at court. They were good for teasing and tweaking, for sending him in the right direction. A game of drunken shadow puppets wasn't complete without at least one of the knights grabbing up a pair of tankards, clapping them to his head, and stumbling about whilst calling Arthur fantastical names that would have seen a peasant flogged. Or worse.

Over the years Arthur saw Merlin's ears in all sorts of piteous states—mud-coated, berry-smeared, wind-chapped, often flushed with fever or high emotion—and told himself it was only natural to develop a fondness for them. They seemed nature's only means of keeping Merlin's smiles from sliding right off his face, plus they continued to come in handy for steering him when he was being stubborn. He was often stubborn. 

If, as time passed, they were used less for urging a dawdling servant towards the stables and more for guiding a distracted bedfellow towards more _satisfying_ pursuits than nuzzling at Arthur's chest and thighs, that was simply a matter of transferring a tried-and-true method to a new situation. It wasn't like Merlin's ears held any special claim over Arthur's attentions. He never fantasized about them…specifically. He never thought of them like _that._ Until that mad trek through the frozen wastelands.

Madness, that was it. The madness of the mission, of the north—the witch's lands. That's what Arthur told himself at the time.

They'd just escaped after being force-marched through the biting cold and blinding white. They'd had little sustenance or sleep. Death seemed the only certainty—well, death and _Merlin._ Merlin with his sulky eyes, frozen lips and ears that stood out so well against the snow. They practically glowed, even in the fading daylight.

Arthur eyed the tight red skin, glistening with snowmelt. His blood was still high from the leap across the chasm, his heart still pounding from the nearness of the thing. His mind surged towards memories of other tight, red skin, and suddenly he _saw._

He saw gaudy come-hither flaps, raw wet skin-cups, thick petals of flesh that didn't hide their secrets as with cunt or clench but _announced_ them, the dark little holes at their hearts as plain as, well…

_The ears on Merlin's face._

There. Everyone at court had used that line a time or twenty. But how had they missed the plainest fact of all, year after year? How had Arthur not noticed before?

Merlin's ears were made for _fucking._

A fantasy flared to life, fully-formed: Of rubbing his stiffening cock against Merlin's ears, trapping it in the soft, hot fold between ear and neck. Of trying to stuff the tip into one of the snug little cups, just pushing it in there with thumb and forefinger and letting Merlin fist the rest. Of painting the rims with his seed, milking the last drops onto the flushed, chubby lobes, dropping them there like liquid pearls. Of licking it off after, straddling Merlin's chest and pinning his arms to keep him from squirming away. (He'd likely whine that it was too wet, that it tickled and made him feel like a newborn kit, but the heat in his eyes and the rhythm of his breath would betray him; as would his greedy prick, all swollen pink and ruddy brown and sticky where it prodded up against Arthur's haunch.)

Arthur gulped in a raw breath. He controlled the exhale, managed not to cough or groan, but couldn't tear his eyes away. "You should cover those before they drop off," he rasped.

"With what?" Merlin snapped, glaring. He was hunched in on himself, chin burrowed into his scarf and hands tucked into his armpits. Without thinking Arthur reached out, cupping his gloved hands around Merlin's ears. 

Merlin's eyes went wide for a moment, his breath a visible puff of steam between them. Then he gave a lazy blink, the coy bastard, and said, "All very well and good for now, sire, but how are we meant to walk? To fight? Shall we ask Morgana to enchant your sword?"

It was too cold for kissing. Plus Arthur didn't dare lose himself when they were so exposed, deep in enemy territory, but he couldn't help resting his forehead on Merlin's for a brief moment, roughly stroking his ears with gloved thumbs.

"If by some chance we _don't_ die," he said. "If we make it back to Camelot, I… Merlin, I fear my old wound may need tending." He watched Merlin's eyes blaze at the words, watched the hint of a smile appear on those blue lips.

"Then I fear we shall have to live, sire," Merlin whispered, "as I believe I have just the thing to ease your pain."

And so it was. But the madness did not abate. It was still there once they had rescued the men and left the north—and the witch—behind. 

Arthur grew so distracted on the return journey that he forced Merlin to wear a hood scavenged off a dead Saxon. The mutinous looks he received in response did nothing to quell his newfound desire.

~ (} 0 {) ~

Upon his return, Arthur spent several hours with Guinevere, breaking bread and sharing news. This had become their habit, each taking comfort in the other's counsel; each reassuring the other with smiling face and steady hand that they'd both survived, that Camelot would endure, even if their passion for one another had not. At last he bid his queen goodnight and returned to his own chambers, not in haste but… eager. His desire for Merlin felt new, unsettled in a way it had not been for some time.

Arthur's chambers boasted fruit, wine, and a goodly fire, but no Merlin. He was more surprised than wounded. There had been times before when Merlin had turned him down, deliberately ignoring their signal—Arthur's wedding night, for example—but he was no tease. He always turned up if he said he would. So Arthur paced. He polished his daggers and drank a glass of wine. He idly looked through the reports that had accumulated in his absence. He changed into his nightclothes all by himself. He had one knee on the bed, ready to cave to doubt, before cursing and pulling on his boots. 

Merlin always turned up if he said he would _unless_ he got lost in the woods picking herbs for Gaius. Or waylaid at the tavern. Or wounded. Or kidnapped. Merlin _was_ the type to polish off a successful rescue mission by getting himself kidnapped.

Arthur stormed off to Gaius' tower. He found Merlin laid out, not in in his own bed, but on the pallet reserved for patients. He was sweating and thrashing about, mumbling something about rabbits' eggs.

"Is he drunk? How on earth did he manage to get—"

"Thank goodness you're here, sire," Gaius cut in, voice grave. He rose and pressed a wad of damp linen into Arthur's hand. "I need more yarrow, and I daren't leave him in this state. Make sure he's breathing and keep him cool. Once the fever breaks he'll need to be kept warm and dry."

"Fever? But he was _fine_ this morning. What—" Arthur began, but Gaius had snatched up his satchel and disappeared through the door at a speed that belied his age. 

Arthur sat heavily on the stool beside Merlin's pallet. His face looked puffy, the glands at his throat horribly swollen. Definitely not drunk. Arthur sighed.

"Only you, Merlin," he said, then, "Usual rules?"

Merlin twitched and gasped for air, a slight tremor crossing his forehead. 

Arthur pressed the wet cloth to his brow. "Rule one: no dying." Rivulets of water disappeared into Merlin's hair and ran down the sides of his face. His ears were a flushed, glistening red, pulsing with blood and fever. Arthur watched as a drop of water got caught up in the crease where his ear joined his head. He pressed it with his thumb, brought it to his lips. "Rule two," he whispered. "No dying before me."

~ (} 0 {) ~

It was a long night. They took it in shifts once Gaius returned, and Arthur was grateful the old physician never once suggested he return to his own chambers or made any comment as to why a king would sit up half the night with his manservant.

The fever broke just before dawn. Arthur watched Gaius sponge down and dry Merlin with a simmering, fascinated envy. He insisted on carrying Merlin to the royal chambers where there was a proper bed and a proper fire and it would be much easier to keep him warm.

"Remember, sire, he needs _rest_ as well as warmth," Gaius said as Arthur shucked his nightclothes as well as his boots and eased into the bed behind Merlin.

"Precisely my point, Gaius. Who would dare molest him here?" Arthur adjusted the pillows so he could sit up, then settled Merlin back against his chest, one splayed hand holding him close.

Gaius made no reply, but his expression spoke volumes. It included a very pointed look at Arthur's other hand, the one restlessly stroking Merlin's face.

Arthur felt his own ears grow warm, but his voice held steady as he added, "The truth is I could sleep for a week myself, were I not the king."

Gaius' face softened. "I don't know about a week, sire, but I think the queen can do without you for one more day. I'll tell the guards you're not to be disturbed."

Arthur wasn't lying. He was exhausted. He fell asleep not long after Gaius left, Merlin's heart thudding away under his left palm, right knuckles skimming the downy shell of Merlin's ear.

~ (} 0 {) ~

When Arthur woke there was still daylight seeping in the crack in the curtains. He was too warm, he had a crick in his neck from sleeping propped against the pillows, and his left arm was asleep—none of which mattered when he saw Merlin. He'd slid down, taking the bedclothes with him. He was burrowed in against Arthur, head resting in his lap, breath huffing out regular and easy just to the left of his cock. The one visible ear, conveniently highlighted by a sliver of sunlight, was a pale, healthy pink.

Relief gave way to a familiar warm flood of arousal. Arthur smiled, remembering the handful of days they'd had this sort of luxury. Days out of place, out of time, feeling drunk on lust and raw affection. Secrets and bodies shared. Once Merlin had woken him by suckling his nipples. Once Merlin had fallen asleep with two of Arthur's mead-soaked fingers buried in his arse. 

Wanting to fuck Merlin's ears suddenly seemed less mad than… well, perhaps it was a bit odd. But also oddly _right,_ in the way that things with Merlin often were, and just the thought of it made Arthur's breath catch in his chest, made his cock fill and rise until it was bobbing alongside Merlin's nose. He could feel the warmth of Merlin's breath. One errant twitch and… Arthur quickly brought his right hand down, palming his prick and pulling it to the side. He wasn't sure how Merlin would take to being woken by a cock-slap.

Instead, Arthur carefully freed his left arm, curling and uncurling his fingers until the feeling rushed back in. He rested that hand on Merlin's head, fingertips just brushing his ear. Merlin hummed, snuggling in closer. 

Arthur was again taken aback at his prior obliviousness. Merlin's ears were so… so joyfully obvious, so _wanton_ and indiscreet. Biting his lip, Arthur slid his hand so it was covering Merlin's left ear—hiding that hot little sheath, keeping it secret—and pressed down with the pads of his finger. Then, with a shaky breath, he curled his middle finger back and slipped it _in._

_Oh yes. Like that._

The rigid inner whorls of Merlin's ear gripped his fingertip, preventing him from actually breaching the inner canal, but he knew it was there, that this was another way _into_ Merlin. That thought sent his pulse racing. He hesitated only a moment before sliding his right hand up his cock and squeezing the spongy tip. At the same time he partially withdrew his finger and began toying with the pointed nub where Merlin's ear met his cheek. He flicked at it, rubbed it like he would a nipple or a cunt, liking how the downy skin slid over the thick cartilage below. He wondered what it would feel like to press it into his slit, to fuck himself on that stiff little nub, mash his cockhead right up against it.

Arthur bit back a groan. He lifted his fingers off Merlin's ear.

"Merlin," he said. It came out hoarse, uneven, so he repeated himself. "Merlin, wake up."

Merlin stirred, smacking his lips. He batted half-heartedly at his face, as if clearing cobwebs, and his hand brushed Arthur's where it was gripped tight around his cock. It slid away, then came back—sentient, exploring. Merlin patted all around Arthur's wrist and knuckles before moving his hand lower. Arthur held his breath. Merlin opened his eyes and looked up.

"Hello," he croaked, curling his hand around Arthur's shaft. "Not dead then?"

Arthur shook his head, jaw clenched.

Merlin smiled. He butted his face into Arthur's groin, inhaling. "Gods how I've missed your bed—you, _this,_ I mean." He gave Arthur's cock a squeeze. "But how did I… I don't remember coming here."

"You had a fever." Arthur had been so focused on keeping his right hand still, he hadn't noticed that his left had gone restless again—fondling Merlin's earlobe, dipping his fingers in and out of the various hollows, worrying at the velvety skin—until Merlin went a bit cross-eyed between trying to look up at it and staring down the damp tip of Arthur's cock.

"And this is the cure, sire?"

Merlin's tone was arch, his expression puzzled, but Arthur saw his nostrils flare. He saw Merlin lick his lips, his throat working to swallow down a sudden flood of spit. 

"I would say it was punishment for your repeated acts of idiotic bravery, but I fear you'd only see it as a reward."

"Indeed," Merlin murmured. He blinked. Then he took a deep breath, wrested Arthur's cock away from him and stuffed it into his mouth.

Arthur hissed at the odd angle and the scrape of those two front teeth. Merlin glanced up apologetically and hummed something around his mouthful. Arthur pinched his earlobe. 

"You forget I don't speak cock-in-throat."

Merlin slid his mouth off Arthur's prick, laughing. "You were quite fluent at Beltane, sire, I assure you. As was I. Perhaps more regular practice is in order?"

"I'll give you practice," Arthur muttered, giving Merlin's ear another tweak. Then he disengaged Merlin's hands, pushing him off, onto his back.

"Hey, I was—"

Arthur surged forward. He flipped over, straddling Merlin's chest, bending down to claim a messy kiss. For all they fit together, they'd never got the hang of kissing sweetly. There was always too much of something—teeth, noses, onion breath, desperation—but Arthur didn't care. And neither, it seemed, did Merlin, as he'd go at it hammer and tongs if Arthur let him. It was the same with sucking cock. Sometimes when he thought about their couplings Arthur wondered if Merlin was trying to devour him, or if he was trying to climb inside Merlin, to hide away inside his sorcerer's skin. 

Sometimes he thought either might be preferable to trying to hang onto this fragile peace, waiting for the witch's next move, watching his people get their hopes up.

Arthur pulled back for air. Merlin tried to follow him up, but Arthur pressed him down into the mattress. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before kissing Merlin's cheek, his brow. 

"Arthur," Merlin murmured, a formal acknowledgment of the boundary they'd crossed, that they kept on crossing again and again because fate had made them for one another. There was no doubt about that. But it had also set them apart, too alike in form and too different in station—too powerful a union—to be openly tolerated.

"Emrys," Arthur replied, breathing the word into the sweat-damp hair at Merlin's temple, repeating it in a whisper across his ear. He didn’t think he'd ever get used to saying it. He kissed Merlin's mouth once more, catching mostly upper lip, then sat back. 

Merlin's eyes were closed. His ears were flushed red again, but not with fever. His arms weren't above his head—his hands were currently kneading Arthur's thighs—but otherwise it was just like Arthur's fantasy.

He scooted up until his knees were snug in Merlin's armpits. He grasped the base of his cock. "Merlin, I want—"

Merlin's eyelids fluttered open. He parted his lips and dropped his jaw, offering his mouth. It was all pink and wet and… 

Arthur slid the forefinger of his free hand inside, rubbed it across that hot tongue, let Merlin roll it around, suck on it until his cheeks dimpled and he could only breathe through his nose. 

When Arthur fancied he could see a bit of gold flickering in Merlin's eyes—the kind that flared to life when Arthur took him fully, the kind that made all Arthur's hair stand on end and his ribcage feel several sizes too small—he pulled his finger out. It made a wet, murky sound. He grasped Merlin's chin between his thumb and three dry fingers and slowly tilted his face to the side. 

Merlin's brow furrowed, his lips working to form a question. Before he could get it out, Arthur pressed his damp forefinger to that stiff little ear-cunt. He ran it up and around, leaving a wet trail on the rim. He felt Merlin shiver beneath him, felt Merlin's fingers digging into his arse. 

"I want _this,_ " he said, tilting Merlin's head to the other side. He re-wet his finger in his own mouth before tracing the outermost curves and folds. Then he knelt up, milking the tip of his prick until he had a sizable bead of clear fluid. He leaned in, coaxing cock and ear into alignment. 

"This," he repeated breathlessly, pressing wet purple flesh onto wet red, wiping his prick off on Merlin's earlobe.

Merlin shuddered; he let go of Arthur's arse and his breath came out in a great rush. For a moment Arthur thought he might find himself blasted off onto the floor. But no. 

"Knew it," Merlin said, a blush burning high on his cheek. "The way you were looking at…thought you'd a mind to eat them, then I remembered the way you used to look at my mouth." As he spoke, Merlin placed his left hand over Arthur's where it rested on his shaft and snaked his right hand down, between Arthur's spread thighs. With a few tugs and a shimmy he had his nightshirt rucked up and his trouser flaps apart. Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, a little shocked to see that Merlin wasn't just aroused, but positively _rampant._

Merlin took himself in hand with a little grunt. "Go on then," he said in that deeper, harsher voice that Arthur had very complicated feelings about—most of them involving battles between his pride and his cock. "But don't you dare come directly _inside_ them. And if you could… _ah._ "

Merlin faltered, face going slack with the pleasure of fucking up into his fist. Arthur let go of his own cock and rubbed a thumb over Merlin's lips and chin. "What?"

Merlin blinked up at him. He smiled wickedly, then turned his head more firmly to the side, offering his left ear. "It feels really good when you rub behind them," he said. "Or when you squeeze the edges. Hard, even. Hard's good at the edges."

Arthur huffed out a laugh, pinching the proffered earlobe between thumb and forefinger. "You mean all the times I've done this… you've been laughing at me, haven't you, all lively in your trousers?" He gave the highest part of Merlin's ear a vicious flick.

Merlin drew in a sharp breath, but his smile only spread.

"Yeah, well, never got so hard as I did just now when you were playing with… you know, that part just where—"

"Here?" Arthur cut in, thumbing the thick tab, then pushing his thumb up, tracing the soft curl of hair that sat just above it. "Surely it has a name, Merlin. Aren't you supposed to be the physician's assistant?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Never had much cause to study ears though, except… I'm sure Gaius has a book, but maybe it could… ah, wait?" He squeezed Arthur's cock and gave a desperate squirm of his hips. Arthur took pity on him.

"Just so," Arthur whispered. He gathered the shell of Merlin's ear in one hand, petting it, rubbing around and below before cupping his hand firmly behind it and hitching his hips forward. The tip of his cock snagged in the upper curve, then popped loose, skidding up into Merlin's hair. Arthur used his free hand to push it back in, to rub the sensitive skin back and forth on all those little folds. He pinched and prodded the end until his slit gaped and he _could_ press it to the whatever-delightful-part-of-ear it was that made Merlin shiver and pant and jerk his wrist—both his wrists—faster on their respective cocks. 

He kept his eyes open, excited by the illusion of size—how big he looked as he rutted against Merlin's ear. It could barely contain his cockhead, even when he stuffed it in there, gritting his teeth against the pressure. He liked the idea of it too, claiming Merlin in a place all could see, but none could touch. Not like this. And the utter perversion of it, the irony… oh, that was sweet. How many times had he teased Merlin, scolded him for his inattention?

"Is this what it takes?" he said, pulling back enough so he could turn Merlin's head to the other side. It was a pity he had only one cock.

"What?" Merlin panted. 

Arthur bent down, catching the lobe gently between his teeth. He nosed at this ear, got it all wet with his tongue, breathed on it until Merlin shivered then rubbed it until he trembled.

"To get you to listen," he whispered. 

"Ungh," Merlin said, suddenly convulsing. Arthur felt warm seed land on his arse and the back of one thigh. 

"Gods, Merlin, you—" Arthur began but gave up words in favor of getting his prick snugged back into this delightful new embrace. He closed his eyes now, concentrating on the contours and textures, on thrusting powerfully with his thighs but restraining himself with his hands. He fumbled his fingertips in where his cock couldn't go, squeezing and tugging and listening to Merlin's breath steam out of him like a horse at gallop.

Merlin's hand had faltered as he came, but now he renewed his efforts at the base of Arthur's cock, timing his tugs to the rhythm of Arthur's hips. His other hand, wet with his own spendings, came up to pry between Arthur's buttocks. Groaning, Arthur paused for a moment to spread his thighs wider. Merlin wormed two fingers between his cheeks.

"I am listening," Merlin said, voice wrecked as he rubbed his fingers firmly over Arthur's clench. Arthur resumed thrusting.

"Arthur, I'm always listening, always…" Merlin pressed one finger in in a swift, smooth wicked curl that had Arthur bucking forward, his balls drawing up tight. "Always here, for you. I—"

Arthur cried out, the sound wrenched from his gut before he could censor himself. He opened his eyes, scrambling to stop up Merlin's ear with his thumb before he spilled into it. He wound up leaving a thick, ropy stripe across Merlin's temple, plus little dribbles all down his jaw and neck. Merlin didn't even flinch, just watched him with those strange, perfect eyes that saw all, that accepted everything Arthur had ever shown him—or that sometimes, when Arthur was at his worst, showed him something better.

"Guh," Arthur said. And, "Oh, that's…"

"Why don't you clean me up before it gets cold," Merlin said, still lazily moving his finger inside Arthur, massaging that miraculous little organ he might have gone his whole life without knowing about were it not for—at least at first—copious amounts of mead and Merlin's insatiable curiosity. When at last Merlin withdrew his finger, Arthur sprawled out half on top of him, cradling his face and fondling his ears. He ignored the cloth Merlin had conjured from somewhere and began lapping up his own seed.

Predictably, Merlin squirmed a bit, saying, "Oh, that—is there really _that_ much?"

"Mmm. It's been weeks. They say it builds up."

Merlin hooked one leg around Arthur's and brought his hands up, stilling Arthur's head. His eyes, when Arthur met them, looked troubled.

"Don't wait so long then. Next time. That's if—"

"I'd have you in here every night if I could," Arthur said in a rush. Because it was the truth, and he was too tired to hide it anymore.

Merlin caressed his face, his expression shifting into something fond, then skeptical. "In order to slake your lust against my ears, sire?"

Arthur buried his face in Merlin's neck, smiling. "And a few other bits. But also…" He groped around behind him until he found a portion of the coverlet and yanked it up over them both. "Just to _rest,_ Merlin. With you. Somewhere where I know we'll be safe. Even in peacetime, it seems we're always racing about. Daggers at our backs, wolves at our door—or worse."

"True." Merlin threaded his fingers into Arthur's hair, tentatively at first, then with the kind of proprietary weight Arthur craved but would never admit to. "Perhaps we should stay in more often, leave the kingdom to Gwen and the knights. Fie on destiny!'

"Fie," Arthur agreed, liking the shape of the word in his mouth. Liking, even more, the way Merlin was now carding fingers through his hair and the knowledge that there was nothing he could do—nothing more he had to do—in this moment. That falling asleep in Merlin's arms after rutting against his ears was unavoidable. Imminent. Fucking obvious.

~ (} 0 {) ~


End file.
